


The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Ellana Lavellan, Mage.

by badbones



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Blanket Permission, Canon Divergence, Depression, F/M, Modern Girl in Thedas, Non-Sexual Intimacy, OFC is not the Inquisitor, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, Work In Progress, author is shy and terrible at human interaction orz, canon level violence, end notes contain more content and trigger warnings for things that are not a focus of this fic, in this house we stan Cole, no beta we die like ancient darkspawn magisters, the Inquisition crew - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbones/pseuds/badbones
Summary: Sweat, blood, and tears. Literally years of preparation, and here she was, at the foot of the mountain path that led up to Haven, while an explosion shook the world and tore a hole into the Beyond."Fenedhis."
Relationships: Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 90





	1. Fortune Has Me Well In Hand

**Author's Note:**

> **Check End Notes for more Content and Trigger Warnings**
> 
> **The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Ellana Lavellan, Mage.**
> 
> _nice - from Middle English nyce, nice, nys, borrowed from Old French nice, niche, nisce (“simple, foolish, ignorant”), from Latin nescius (“ignorant, not knowing”)._
> 
> Absolutely a reference to Good Omens, though won't be even half as funny - or accurate. Ellana is a DA fangirl, but it's been over two decades since her last playthrough and people just forget or plain misremember or obsess over some things and characters and not others. 
> 
> So. The above was only ever supposed to be the working title, but then it stuck. I'm afraid if you're looking for a comedic approach, this story will disappoint, but it's also not going to be a tragedy because this is still wish-fulfillment and I love happy endings. It'll just… take a while to get there. 
> 
> Anyway,
> 
> Gnu Terry Pratchett.

The first time Lana met Lord Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, told her everything she needed to know about him as a person. 

It went like this:

She was at the tavern, tiredly nursing a beer and ignoring the looks being shot her way by the small group of Templars at the other end of the room, when the man himself swaggered in, twirling a knife and bragging loudly that no one, absolutely no one could beat him when it came to precision.

Which, okay, maybe that was true and there was nothing wrong with being proud of your skills. Take the elven serving girl who was currently balancing five plates while dodging roving hands and not spilling anything. Definitely someone who had every right to brag, Lana thought. 

"I don't know, Herald," Varric said, brushing snow from his head, as he sat down at the nearest free seat, which also happened to be the only free seat at that table. The soldier next to him immediately jumped up to offer Trevelyan his own place, almost bumping into the serving girl who swerved to avoid him on her way back to the kitchen. "I think Rivaini could give you a run for your money."

Trevelyan laughed as he sat down himself. "Oh yes, your pirate queen. I heard she's pretty," he continued with a leer, "but looks aren't everything, you know."

"Yeah," Varric said slowly.

"I mean, some people obviously have both, but not everyone is so lucky!"

If this were an anime, Lana thought, downing the last of her beer, you would probably be able to see a nerve ticking above Varric's eye right about now. Not that Trevelyan seemed to notice the irritation in his companion. Or maybe he skillfully ignored it. Lana raised the tankard to signal for another round, then leant back to wait and watch how this played out.

"Better never let her hear you say that," the dwarf replied, voice light enough to make it sound like a joke, though Lana was sure she could hear a sharp undercurrent that certainly reminded her that Varric Tethras did have what amounted to  _ mafia  _ connections. And was very loyal to his friends. 

Trevelyan either didn't hear or didn't care because he snorted. "I'll give you a demonstration."

Lana missed the dwarf's reply because the serving girl was handing over her new tankard, throwing a quick smile her way when their fingers accidentally brushed, and Lana briefly contemplated the idea of flirting.

There was a sudden  _ thunk  _ and beer spilled as they both froze. 

"See, right between their fingers, and not a drop of blood spilled," Trevelyan declared. " You can check their hands if you don't believe me."

Someone hooted.

Lana let out a slow breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

Yeah, it was everything she needed to know about him.

The Dalish prided themselves on a lot of things, from being the last of the Elvhen -  _ hah  _ \- to being the keepers of lost lore - what little they could get their hands on, what little remained, diluted and corrupted - to, not least of all, never ever taking shit from a human. She could practically hear Varric's mental  _ oh, shit _ as his gaze travelled from the throwing knife sticking out of her tankard, over her inked face and finally to the staff resting by her side.

The Herald was oblivious. In fact, he wasn't even looking at her, which was just as well. "Are you alright?" she asked, gaze briefly flicking back to the other person in this mess.

The serving girl swallowed, then plastered on the Thedas equivalent of the Customer Face. It looked  _ exactly  _ like the one on Earth. "Yeah, sure," she laughed. "I can get you another one?"

"No, thank you," Lana replied, and the girl  scurried away  as quickly as her feet could carry her. Lana turned her attention back to the other table, trying to ignore her nerves and play it cool. Locking eyes with Varric, she took a long draught from her beer while the dwarf's eyebrows started climbing higher. Then she pulled out the knife, snatched up her staff, and stood. 

For the past three days Lana had been fretting about how to get an in with the  _ actual  _ Herald. That was, after she'd stopped worrying about whether there even was one, what with Ellana, First of Clan Lavellan, having arrived too late to interfere with Corypheus's plans. Most important day of her (new) life, and she'd been  _ late. _

Stupid Thedas with its stupid  _ random encounters. _

Stupid her for being unable to ignore things when they happened right in front of her. Or, admittedly, somewhere in her periphery.

"Nice throw," she said as she came closer, offering the knife back to the Herald. "Very accurate. Glad my skills weren't needed."

"And what skills would those be, sweetheart?" Trevelyan asked, staring not at her face but at her breasts. Of course.

What a douche. No matter; she needed to focus.

_ Here it goes then. _

"Healing," Lana listed with an outward confidence that wasn't undeserved, but that she never actually felt due to a severe - and rather ironic - case of imposter syndrome, "with both magic and herbs; battle; peace-keeping."  _ Dear universe, take note of the incredible amount of diplomacy displayed here. _ "And magics that make travel easier." Like easing the ways for aravels, admittedly, though she hoped that she wasn't misremembering fanon as canon and Varric really did hate travelling. She needed an ally to back her up, quickly. Or at least a dwarf that hated the outside.

"Huh," Varric said, stroking his chin and eyeing her thoughtfully before inclining his head a fraction in her direction. Couldn't get anything past him, she supposed, but if he was willing to help out she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Sounds useful if you ask me."

Trevelyan frowned. "We already have a wild apostate.Though, I guess taking two makes for one halfway trained circle mage. And this one  _ is  _ prettier." He winked. Lana had the terrible feeling he thought of himself as a ladies man and was utterly unaware how insulting he was being.

"Thanks," she said with a bland smile. 

"Could do without the face tats, though, love. You're beautiful without."

Off to the side, Varric groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"I'll keep it in mind, Herald," Lana said.  _ Diplomatically. _

The Herald beamed.

* * *

The first time Lana met Solas could have gone better, admittedly. Lana was dead on her feet because it was unbelievably early and it took her brain a bit to even process his greeting. Her reply, equally delayed, consequently sounded kind of awkward. Of course, it didn't help that, when she turned, he took one look at her face and instantly dismissed her. Or maybe not  _ dismissed  _ exactly, but the edges of his mouth turned down and though he didn't outwardly move or shift, he started giving off vibes that firmly screamed  _ nope _ . Or something more melodious and poetic, but with the same meaning. Lana had been prepared for that, however, had been ever since coming to awareness in Thedas and realizing exactly who she'd been reborn as. 

She'd also been prepared to wake up in a cell at some point in her life, being interrogated by the Left and Right Hand of the late Divine. Which she hadn't, but that was okay. It wasn't like she'd been looking forward to it, and she could absolutely still do some good as a Companion. Everything was fine, she was  _ alive, _ it was  _ better than fine. _ And she wouldn't let herself be discouraged by being judged by her appearance.

Though, honestly, it was a little hypocritical of him. She was sure she remembered him standing on the proverbial soapbox about people not being defined by their physical characteristics. Something about Dorian's cheekbones?

"Hi, I'm Lana," she said and stuck out her hand. He was clearly surprised, but only hesitated for a moment before shaking it. 

"Solas," he replied and then was content to add nothing more. Lana cast about for something to say.

"So, have you been in Haven long?"

"A week," he ventured before falling silent again.

_ I think I started out with negative disapproval here. Might be the vallas'lin. Probably. _

"Ah, you're a mage?" she asked and winced, waiting for him to ask what gave it away. The staff, perhaps?

But Solas seemed to take pity on her. "As are you." He turned to face her more fully. "Forgive me, but you are Dalish, are you not? What is it that you're doing here?"

Lana's shoulders went down and she realized she'd been tense from the awkwardness. 

"At the moment? Trying to help fix this." She waved a hand towards the Breach. "But before that, my Keeper sent me to learn whatever is decided at the Conclave." 

Solas considered this. "I didn't think your people took an interest in human affairs."

_ Your people, huh? _ She vaguely remembered this from the game she had played a lifetime ago and the veritable ton of fic she'd read, though her memories had degraded over time, and she had focused on retaining what she considered more important details than individual dialogue trees in a language not even spoken in Thedas.

It was funny how the only words she'd understood at first had been the few Elven ones she knew.

In any case, she was going to ignore the bait and focus on the actual question.

"Not of our own volition, usually, no. But war won't stop at the edge of your camp just because you're not interested in it."

Solas' expression turned thoughtful as he looked at her more closely, but before he could form a response, someone else interrupted.

"There you are," Varric huffed, almost tripping as he tried to keep up with the Herald, who was striding past Lana and Solas at a brisk pace, Cassandra in his wake. The Seeker's eyes flicked to Lana, taking her in and clearly assessing her threat level because, unlike Trevelyan, the Seeker was a professional. The Herald meanwhile didn't even stop as he marched out the gate, merely flicking his hand in what was clearly a command to follow. 

There was a brief moment where all four of them seemed to be in perfect agreement: from Cassandra's fading  _ ugh, _ Varric's grumbling, Solas firmly pressed lips to Lana's sigh. They should probably have tried to hold onto that kind of solidarity. It would have made the next couple of days more bearable.

Alas, by the third day of travel, Lana was seriously regretting introducing herself as someone who would try to keep the peace, however accurate it was, and gave some serious consideration to bonking everyone over the head with her staff and sending them into time-out. 

"One more word, Varric, and I swear-"

Or just straight up leaving. She didn't actually need to tag behind, did she?

"Yeah, yeah. You'll run me through with your sword, roast me over the fire, and throw me off the nearest cliff. Seeker, if you don't like me, stop pulling my pigtails. Makes me all kinds of confused."

Maybe she could just lie down somewhere and not get up ever again.

"I believe it is you pulling her pigtails, Master Tethras. Perhaps you-"

"Maker's breath, the lot of you, just shut. Up," Trevelyan hissed.

_Don't make me turn this car around,_ Lana mentally finished for him. At least, he wasn't one to shout when he got angry.

"As you wish, Herald," Solas said obsequiously, putting in so much deference that it almost sounded mocking. No, it was mocking, and… Lana tore her gaze away from the fuming Herald, and towards Varric, then Solas, a suspicion forming in her mind.

Had they been riling each other, and Cassandra, up on purpose? Or pretending to at least? Driving the Herald and everyone else up the wall? If so, it worked beautifully, though she was sure Cassandra at least wasn't part of that plan. The Seeker was just as ticked off as the Herald.

Definitely on purpose, Lana decided, rubbing a hand over her eyes. She supposed she should be grateful that she'd been ignored by her travelling companions when she hadn't been trying  _ pointlessly  _ to mediate.

She wasn't really angry at either of them, but it had been so exhausting.

Things were quiet for a while after, probably because Solas and Varric had a sense for how far they could push and neither was willing to be given the boot. It said something about how much Trevelyan's attitude was rubbing everyone wrong that they were even doing this while still on shaky ground, Solas especially. Hell, even Lana had a mind to join in.

"Rift. Up ahead."

And that was almost a welcome distraction.

The fight was quick but brutal, and the adrenaline managed to wake her from the half-trance she'd fallen into while listening to her companions' sniping. Unlike the game, they didn't have to wait for a second wave of demons to come through. It was only a matter of getting Trevelyan close enough, long enough, to be able to sow the Rift shut without being distracted by an attack. 

Distract, harry, control. The two mages and the rogue worked to draw the enemy away while Cassandra kept the Herald safe. Trevelyan took it upon himself to take out two shades, probably to show off, Lana thought uncharitably, but then he finally stood underneath the glowing tear in the Veil and raised his hand. The Mark connected and Lana refocused her efforts to keep the remaining demons away from him. The Rift snapped close just as Varric's bolt took out the last of them, and Trevelyan turned around, an expectant look on his face as if he was waiting for applause.

No, he was waiting for applause.

"Impressive," Lana ventured with as much sincerity as she could, though her voice sounded mostly monotonous even to her own ears.

"Indeed," Solas added.

"I know." Trevelyan flashed his teeth in a confident smile. It looked fairly nice and he had the kind of features that would have seen him on the cover of a magazine in her old life.

Cassandra let out a disgusted noise and sheathed her sword. She swept her gaze over her companions, likely checking for injuries, and upon finding everyone unscathed, turned and stalked towards the path they'd been taking before the Rift had derailed them. 

Cassandra, Lana thought again, was a professional and competent warrior, who had her priorities straight. 

Meanwhile, the Herald was sulking because she hadn't patted him on the head and called him a good boy like the apostate mages who were trying to stay in his good graces. 

He made for a good figurehead with his looks, but she hoped there was more to Maxwell Trevelyan than this. The world needed it of him.


	2. Tit for Tat for Tat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Summary of Chapter One:** Lana meets the Core Four. The Herald is full of himself, Varric helps out, Solas and Varric engage in mock arguments to drive Maxwell Trevelyan up the wall, and Cassandra is competent and long-suffering.
> 
> I added **bullying** to my list of content warnings at the end of the fic. It comes up this chapter.

Lana's infanthood had been a nightmare, something best forgotten, or - at the very least - shoved so far into the back of her mind that it might only bubble up to the surface once in a blue moon.

Lana's  _ childhood  _ had merely been strange. No, that wasn't quite it. It was more honest to say that Lana had been strange and her childhood would have been perfectly normal for a Dalish child if that child hadn't been able to remember a previous life. 

Little Lana would have been a perfectly fine child if she hadn't been so  _ off _ . It had been less noticeable as an infant because she hadn't spoken, had cried a lot, had slept even more, and had been very sick at some point. She couldn't quite recall what she had been sick with; she only remembered worried faces and hushed conversations between her new father and mother, the Keeper bent over her, frowning and shaking her head. 

Well, that and her issues around food, but. Well, best forgotten.

Once Lana had reached the point where speech and better motor control were an option, her oddity was hard to hide. She had tried to be normal. She had been aware that anything too abnormal would be met with more than simple suspicion, not in a world where  _ possession  _ was a very real danger, even if she had still been too young to manifest any kind of magical talent. She hadn't tried to look for a possible connection to the Beyond either because a toddler throwing fireballs was a Risk with capital R. 

So, Lana had done anything she could think of to avoid attention, which meant that first she'd been quiet and reserved and impeccably behaved - which wasn't normal, in retrospect, but hindsight was 20/20 - then she'd tried to play with the other children, but children had a sixth sense for things out of the ordinary and, if she hadn't been an adult in a child's body, she'd say that she had been bullied. That was to say, Ellana of Clan Lavellan had been bullied, but she, being an adult, hadn't really been hurt by it for the most part. There were two exceptions to that. Once she had come out of an altercation with a black eye - she'd been four - it was when she'd tried to get in between Mawen and Valaya when they'd begun to argue about… something really stupid that she couldn't even recall. 

Lana didn't like it when people around her argued, never had. It didn't even matter if it was a real argument or not.

Up ahead, Cassandra made another frustrated noise to whatever Trevelyan had said to her - probably some kind of very witty witticism, or a pick-up line - but remained at his side.

"Say, Chuckles," Varric began loudly.

"Where are you from?" Lana interrupted, speeding up from where she had fallen slightly behind to put herself between her two companions. Varric raised a brow at her, but obligingly fell back to take up the rear. Lana bit her lip. She was sure Varric was simply biding his time to start asking pointed questions and she was racking up the debt. 

"A small village to the north," Solas replied after a pause, drawing her attention back to him. She had to crane her neck in order to meet his gaze and cursed her lack of height again. Stupid infant malnutrition; though she supposed she could count herself lucky that stunted growth had turned out to be the main effect from that.

"Sounds exciting," Lana remarked. And really? Exciting?

Solas huffed. "There was little there to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic," he continued, definitely discouraging her from questioning him about his origins further.

Disapproval still? Or his penchant for avoiding outright lies when possible?

"Is that why you're no longer there?" she tried, slowing a little to increase the distance between them and the Herald because she couldn't imagine Trevelyan being high enough in Solas' estimate to warrant learning anything about him.

"In a way. I'm a Dreamer and have spent many nights exploring the Fade." He slanted a look at her to judge her reaction to that revelation. Lana had kept track of what he had revealed about himself in her presence, and it was precious little. Certainly, he hadn't mentioned his gift before, so it was only natural that he'd be curious.

"That must have been interesting."

Solas nodded. "After a while I was no longer able to find new memories. The Fade reflects the outside world. Unless I travelled, I would never find anything new."

"Makes sense. So, what interesting things have you seen?" 

"Why the questions?" 

Lana drew up short. Wasn't he supposed to like it when people asked questions? Then again, this Solas was a real person. A real person, who'd been somewhat grouchy for at least the past three days while he contemplated the Herald surreptitiously with furrowed brows. 

"Should I not want to know more of the people I travel with?"

"I did not hear you address either Varric or the Seeker unless I missed it?" His tone clearly said that he hadn't.

Lana huffed and checked to see whether the two humans were in earshot. They were far enough ahead and Trevelyan seemed to be engaged in trying to flirt his way into Cassandra's bed while the Seeker glowered at him, which meant they weren't paying much attention to the rest of their companions. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice. "Varric likes talking; if I want to know more about him, all I have to do is listen. Which I do." He  _ was  _ a gifted story-teller. "Seeker Pentaghast is… a tad intimidating," she finally finished.

"And I am less so?" Solas chuckled lightly, and Lana's mouth turned dry. In the years since being reborn into Thedas she had forgotten how attractive he looked and sounded when he was happy, or amused at least.

She cleared her throat. "You're certainly less likely to clap me in irons and drag me to a Circle."

"Yet, you are here."

"And so are you."

They stopped and looked at each other. It was with great effort that Lana kept a straight face. Yes, they had both joined the Inquisition, ostensibly to help with the Breach. So noble! Definitely no ulterior motives here!

"A fair point," Solas conceded and they resumed walking.

"Speaking of, it would be unfair of me to ask questions without giving you the opportunity to do the same." She tilted her head. "Trade?"

"Aaaand, that's my cue," Varric spoke up from almost right behind her. Lana twitched imperceptibly. Sneaky. "So, why did you want to join our merry band of misfits? And don't give me that line about the Breach. Haven has enough opportunities for a  _ healer  _ to help out."

She knew that. In fact, she had been helping out in the makeshift infirmary because Adan really wasn't one.

"I did actually."

"And you're not doing that any longer because…?"

"Have you looked at Ferelden recently? Haven is doing alright now; nothing that Adan or one anyone else couldn't handle."

"Philanthropy? Really?"

"Do you think the Herald will stop admiring himself long enough to help people?" she asked. 

"Eh," Varric said, "people can surprise you. And Chuckles here isn't half bad at healing either, you know. Kept the Herald from dying."

Right then. This was the part where she'd be outright lying, something she didn't like doing because she was incredibly bad at it. "Well, I didn't know that he existed or would be coming with you, not until the Herald said so, anyway."

There was no indication that either of them thought she wasn't telling the truth; but equally was there no indication that they believed her either. "You could have gone alone."

"Already tried that on the way here. Barely evaded the Templars. I thought it might be safer--"

"Or signed up with Leliana."

"Why didn't  _ you _ _?_ " She shot back.

Varric, that asshole, only raised his eyebrows at her again.

"Oh for, okay fine." Lana sighed. She hoped that what she had come up with while waiting for the Herald to awaken and be dragged to the Breach by Cassandra would convince him. It wasn't like it was even a lie; just not the main reason. "Look, I can see where the wind is blowing. People are already worshipping him for being Andraste's Chosen. And I want to be close enough to the top to hear about any kind of - oh, I don't know -  _ Exalted Marsh on the non-believers _ ."

Next to him, Solas let out a low, "ah," of understanding, but Varric snorted.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to keep my people safe," Lana declared hotly as her skin began to heat and her pulse picked up speed, and she couldn't tell if it was because Varric was giving her a hard time or because she was truly worried. Maybe the Venatori weren't going to target Wycome if Lana wasn't the Herald; maybe they would. And maybe Trevelyan would build the Inquisition into another mighty hammer for the Chantry that would spread Andraste's message with blood. She may not have been born Dalish, but she was  _ raised  _ Dalish, and her identity in Thedas had been shaped around it whether she truly believed in the Creators or not. Worship of the Evanuris wasn't all there was to Dalish identity. And even though she felt like an impostor half the time, these were still her people.

"Woah, back up," Varric said, "didn't say there was. But you gotta admit it's a little less noble than saving the whole world."

"Why can't both be true?" Lana asked, voice rising. 

"Alright, alright." Varric held up his hands placatingly. "I guess, it's the same reason why you came to Haven in the first place, so your motivation's consistent at least." He pursed his lips and, finally, slumped. "And I can get behind keeping your friends and family safe."

Was that an olive branch? If so, she was going to take it.

"A worthy cause to fight for," Solas offered his own thoughts. "Though caution must be applied regardless."

"Why?" Varric asked, and Lana was glad to let him take over the conversation. She was fine with talking out differences of opinion, but she felt drained from Varric's interrogation as the nervous energy that had her vibrating on the inside began to dissipate. And she knew Solas' stance on this. Duty before love or friendship.

Lana drew back to take up the rear again and focussed on finding a semblance of calm. Not that that lasted for long as ahead of them Cassandra let out a War Cry and she and Trevelyan charged forward into an overwhelming number of enemies, half of which could nullify Lana's magic and drain her of mana. Great.

Oh, and the other half was also trying to kill her because, well, just because it seemed. She knew the mages were afraid, but wildly attacking anyone they didn't know did nothing but upping the body count.

It took mere moments for the fight to devolve into a free for all. 

_ I already hate this. _

Lana dodged the swing of another mage's staff, made easier by the fact that he was tall and she was decidedly not, only to almost run into a Templar's blade. A knife suddenly protruded from the woman's throat, but Lana was too busy fending off the mage to properly express her gratitude to Trevelyan.

He really did have excellent aim.

She retreated a couple more steps, coaxing her opponent into following her. He did, a vicious, victorious grin on his face. Lana ducked again, twisted around the tree at her side, and slammed her hand against its trunk. A branch shot out of it and slammed into his head, knocking the man out. Lana used the blade at the end of her staff to finish him off.

Couldn't show mercy when they were so outnumbered. 

_ I really hate this. _

"You know," Varric said afterward while she was healing a rather large gash in his leg from a Templar that had gotten a little too close and personal with him, "you were right. Having you along is handy."

"Thanks," Lana said, only a little sarcastically.

"Looking at you, no one would think you'd impale a guy with a magic root, but you're actually pretty terrifying."

Lana hummed. "It's not a magic root. It's a perfectly natural root called from below and grown," she explained. "Can't make something out of nothing." Converting energy like fire and lightning was one thing, but even ice needed water first. Luckily, there was enough humidity around usually. Not that Lana knew much about ice magic beyond the basics. Dalish education in magic only went as far as your own Keeper could take you and whatever you could figure out on your own. Or learn from spirits, she supposed, but while Lana was a mage and  _ aware  _ in the Beyond, the way a regular person wasn't, she wasn't a Dreamer. She couldn't walk the paths to search for friendly spirits, couldn't even keep hold of her dreams for long enough to exchange more than a few words with the very few who revealed themselves or even spoke to her in the first place and she'd had far better things to bring up in the handful of moments she had with them. 

Varric waved a hand. "Kinda reminds me of another Dalish mage I know, actually. Very sweet when she isn't boiling people's blood." He squinted at Lana suspiciously. 

"No," Lana cut him off quickly because that was dangerous talk in the company of the Chantry, and also she didn't use blood magic. "Not one of my talents, and I have no interest in learning."

Behind her someone snorted quietly enough that she was certain Varric hadn't picked up on it. Elf hearing was really something. 

"Especially now with the Veil being in the shape it is in."

"Afraid of being possessed?" Solas asked, coming closer. Looked like he had finished with Cassandra and Trevelyan then.

"Afraid of weakening it further," she countered. She pulled a small container of salve from her pack and handed it to Varric. "Rub that in twice a day to avoid scarring."

"Scars make you look tough and manly," Varric said.

"Scarring can impede your range of movement," Lana replied drily. "Besides, with chest hair like that no one could doubt your virility."

Varric waggled his eyebrows. "Knew someone here found me irresistible."

"Yes," Solas piped up. "Several of these Templars and a fair few of the mages couldn't take their eyes off of you."

Lana snorted. A joke about penetration and swords as phallic objects was on the tip of her tongue, but she held back, especially because Cassandra was approaching and Lana doubted she'd score points with the woman that way.

"If you are done gossiping," Cassandra called, "we should attempt to reach the Crossroads before night falls."

"Oh, but Seeker," Varric whined, pitching his voice to sound like a kid that was told to stop playing and head home. "It was just getting good."

Cassandra's face twisted into a grimace.

"Five more minutes, please?"

_ "Ugh." _


	3. Fury in the Slaughterhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Summary of Chapter Two:** Varric interrogates Lana as to her motives, there's another fight, with the mages and Templars this time, and there's some bonding between Varric, Solas and Lana.
> 
> _First scene: CW - bullying, also mention of physical punishment of a child_

Lana came into her magic when she was five-and-a-half, which was early she later learned, but not so early as to raise undue suspicion.

It hadn't been on purpose either. It was summer, the clan kids had been playing in a shallow stream, and Mawen, half a year older and built stronger and taller than her, had dunked her head under water. And then he'd done it again. And again. And everyone - every child, they were all children and didn't  _ understand  _ \- around her had laughed and Lana had panicked because she didn't want to  _ die  _ and she couldn't get air, oh god, she couldn't  _ breathe _ , and-

A mind blast. That's what it was. Scared every child around her something good, a few of them ending up with bruises and scrapes from slamming against a rock or a tree trunk or something else. No broken bones, no one dead, she'd later learned with relief. Even if she had been terrified, she hadn't meant to cause any lasting harm. They were children.

The Keeper bent her over the knee for it because you never, ever, ever used your magic against kin - and Lana understood the sentiment, agreed even, but she hadn't done it on purpose, had had no control over it and being punished for something so out of her control was unfair, so, so unfair. It was probably the first time she somewhat acted her perceived age because she was crying and screaming because it was  _ unfair. _

That Mawen was punished, too, and the barely of age hunter who'd been making mooneyes at a girl instead of watching them, as well, was cold comfort, and hadn't endeared Mawen to her. The boy became a constant source of frustration to Lana, calling her a snitch - how had she snitched? - and generally turning every other kid in his sphere of influence against her. Which was fairly easy to do because her loss of control had frightened them. And fear, very easily, turned into anger.

(Of course, there were others, like uncle Elorian, but Lana hadn't ever quite managed to really connect to those who should have been her peers.

Then again, she'd been an adult in a child's body. Really, who were her peers?)

* * *

The Crossroads was a collection of huts that had grown into a village and, being located where it was, may have actually turned into a bigger and more important settlement in time. Closeness to a lake and lying on two different trading routes were excellent starting points. 

Being at the center of the current fighting between Templars and mages was not. Their group passed the remnants of several burnt out or raided buildings before arriving at the central hub and immediately being attacked. Again. 

And both mages and Templars were attacking indiscriminately. Again. 

The difference to their previous fight, and one that Lana did not appreciate, was that there were clearly non-combatants around. And there were definitely more enemies than at the last battle. Luckily, there were also several Inquisition scouts, who could at least lend a hand. While Solas cast a barrier on the Herald, who had run ahead to show off because, of course, he did, Lana devoted herself to herding attackers away from the people who wanted no part of the fighting. It wasn't always successful.

"That's a child." It escaped her, unbidden, and she struck, calling upon nature to aid her. Too late.  _ Too late.  _

The mage turned.

His eyes were burning, and the skin of his face began to flake, ashes drifting off with the wind. 

_ Rage. _

Ice, then. Her second weakest element. There's never any point to learning ice magic in a clan, beyond the basics. Fire was important in winter, so you and your people didn't freeze to death, nature magic to travel and defend. A little Earth for flattening uneven terrain, but if you knew how to pull on the powers of nature itself, what did Earth matter beyond that? Certainly, not enough to bother spending time and energy on figuring out more ways to use it in battle. Electricity wasn't important either, or so the Keeper thought, but Lana made a point of figuring out as much about it as possible, though most of it was dedicated to healing. 

Electric shocks to restart a heart. A low current to soothe pain and relax muscles.

Lana flung herself to the side as the Abomination spit a fireball at her, then focused to drop the temperature around the being. 

Ice magic isn't that difficult to figure out, she scolded herself. Opposite of fire. Really, she could have found  _ some time _ to experiment with it. It wasn't like Rage demons were rare.

Abominations were, though. She'd never encountered any before, and the only thing she knew about them for certain was that they were stupid strong and resistant to nature magic. Her Keeper had warned her of that when she'd gotten her very first staff.

Nature was strong, Deshanna had said, but there were a few things that proved resistant.

Immune to nature, immune to fire, Lana thought hysterically, the perfect match-up!

The Abomination turned, a little slowed but nowhere near frozen. Lana threw lightning at it. Them. Whatever. (Two people in one body; them, surely?)

_ Not the time to think about that. _

The Abomination roared in pain and anger, but its limbs didn't lock up as she had expected. 

A stray bolt shot past her, close enough to give her a heart attack, and buried itself in the Abomination's arm. For a moment she thought Varric had come to back her up, but no. One of the villagers had decided to fight back. He was missing an eye and most of his lower leg - old injuries, war injuries - and had propped himself against the wall of his house. He was loading another bolt. 

"Watch where you're aiming," she shouted, momentarily distracted. Her moment of inattention cost her as the Abomination lunged and swiped its claws across her front. Lana bit back a scream as four gashes opened up and she flung herself backwards.

"Like you lot watched where you were aiming your foul magic?" the man shrieked back, terrified and furious.

Fenedhis lasa! Just what she needed.

But his anger attracted the Abomination's attention. On the one hand, this gave Lana a break. On the other, the man had no armor. No defenses.

_ He's going to die. _

Her mind froze for a split second, then turned into overdrive. Maybe, she thought. Maybe this could work, but the idea was stupid, incredibly stupid and dangerous. 

Water conducted electricity better than air, and the possessed mage still had a body.

_ I'm going to die. _

With the Abomination's back turned and its attention on the man, Lana had exactly one chance. She gathered lightning in her hand, wincing as it started to crackle immediately, a low susurrus that did not at all sound like a thousand birds chirping - fuck you,  _ Naruto  _ \- but was loud enough that it risked attracting the Abomination's attention. Not giving herself time to think, Lana shot forward until she was within reach and released the energy straight into the Abomination's body where the heart should be.

It stumbled, turned almost in slow motion, and Lana flailed back, back, back.  _ Get out of reach. _

Not fast enough. The Abomination opened its mouth and - crumbled at her feet, a crossbow bolt sticking out of the back of its neck.

Lana looked at the villager, heart racing. He glared back and started reloading his crossbow, hate and fury twisting his features. At this distance, he'd hit her for sure.

Lana decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

There were too many wounded, and too many dead. There were too many of anything, but what made Lana want to bury her head in the ground out of sheer frustration was the amount of people who refused help because it came in the form of magic. Even with Mother Giselle doing her best to persuade the injured and the dying, there were still too many who saw her or Solas or one of the handful of other mages here and begged to be spared their evil.

And yet, as evening set and night began to fall, Lana dropped onto her bedroll, utterly exhausted and still not done with all the wounded who would accept a mage's help. Also, her robe had several tears that needed fixing, and her breast band was a lost cause, courtesy of the Abomination. She had healed the gashes on her own body and had wrapped herself in the cape that functioned as an extra layer to wear against the cold of the Frostbacks and a blanket to cover herself with when she slept, but there had been no time to sit down and do some sewing until now.

A cough rattled through the hut where she and Solas had been welcomed, the only one willing to house elven apostates. It shook the frame of the woman on the bed and deepened the frown on her husband's face. Lana glanced away from them, guilty at her inability to do more at the moment, and pulled thread and needle from her pack. Their son hadn't even left instructions for how to prepare the potion that would more effectively ease his mother's lungs and while Lana could guess at the ingredients, she had neither the time nor the required herbs to try and recreate it. All either Solas or she could offer were temporary relief at best. 

At least, until the Herald decided to go where that cult had holed itself up, and that might take a while yet since there was so much else to do that needed more immediate attention. Food and blankets for the refugees took priority - and she was glad that Trevelyan agreed, without prompting even - as did the Rifts in the region, and the hide-outs of the mages and Templars. So many urgent things to take care of, a few oddballs worshipping the Breach seemed hardly important by comparison.

Oddballs or selfish pricks. Honestly, what had the young man been thinking to leave his mother like this?

As if picking up on the fact that she'd been thinking uncharitably about his son, Serannon spoke. "Hyndel is a good boy. Clever. The Apothecary thought so, too, agreed to apprentice him even though there had been better candidates." Not better as such, just human ones, Lana interpreted. "He… he's _convinced_ we'd be safer there."

"You disagree," Solas prompted as he began to unwrap his foot wraps.

"The Crossroads were supposed to be safe, too," his wife spoke up from her bed."It's why Master Dennet sent us here, but look at it now." Even speaking these few words seemed to have been too much, and she broke out into a violent coughing fit. Both Lana and Solas, depleted as they were, started to rise at the same time, but the woman waved them off. 

"We'll look for him once we're up in the hills," Lana promised again, feeling helpless. She'd look; even if she couldn't persuade Hyndel to return, she'd at least get the potion from him. And the recipe.

"Sylaise bless you," Serannon said, then ducked his head, gaze skittering away from her before returning to her face. Lana tilted her head in question.

He cleared his throat. "I know we are as children to you." Beside her, on his own bed roll, Solas let out a snort quickly disguised as a cough. "We have neither the knowledge nor the strength," Serannon continued, "to do our ancestors proud as the Dalish do-"

"No," Lana interrupted him quickly and agitatedly. It wasn't just the acute embarrassment of sitting next to an ancient elf while aware of just how badly history had been preserved, how little truth remained in the tales passed down through Tevinter slavery and Chantry persecution, constant attempts to kill a culture. It was her irritation at this false division; the way a lot of city elves looked in awe upon the Dalish while they, in turn, treated their city kin with disdain. Not all, and not out of maliciousness, but the pride that enabled the clans to continue to fight and survive and keep going against the odds did turn to arrogance easily.

What else but pride did they have, though? Family, yes, and family stuck together. But safety? Warm relations with other peoples? A place to call their own? A home?

The city elves had that, at least, but they faced different challenges.

"The Dalish have it easy in that regard," Lana said. "A child is raised surrounded by people who believe the same, who never have these beliefs questioned." She paused for a second, tensing as she felt Solas' sharp gaze boring into her. "It is harder, and takes more courage, to keep hold of your convictions, to cling to your identity, when everyone around you pressures you to let go of them."

Serannon looked at her with wide eyes, mouth agape, before a blush started creeping up his face. "I thank- I mean, ma serannas, hahren."

Lana opened to correct him on calling her  _ hahren  _ \- it was missing the point she'd been trying to make entirely - but then thought better of it.

Rome wasn't built in a day.

"Tel'serannas, lethallin," she replied. "There is no need."

Somewhat later, after the mending had been done and everyone inside the hut had lain down to sleep, Lana found herself alone with Solas. Her staff was in her hand and she was wearing her robes. Was there danger, she wondered, head swivelling around to look at every shadowy corner, was it that which had woken her? 

Not woken, she amended, as she looked around and noticed the flickering forms of Hyndel's parents. They were in the Beyond. The realization settled into her, and settled her as she understood why everything felt slightly off-kilter.

Like before, Solas was simply watching her, waiting to see how she'd react. Fear, or at the very least apprehension, would be logical considering that anyone, even a mage, was at the mercy of a Dreamer while in the Beyond. 

Lana licked her lips, betraying her own nervousness. Why did he approach her here? Was it a test? 

_ Probably. _

"Are we in your dream or mine?" She finally asked because the silence was getting to her. It was alternatingly unnerving and discouraging how he never seemed to want to speak to her.

_ But why bring me here then? _

"Neither," Solas replied, nodding to indicate the couple they were staying with.  _ Neutral ground? _ Lana wondered, as he stood and walked towards the door, which was open now, though it hadn't been a moment before, and turned back in clear invitation for her to follow. 

"I have never known your people to be anything but dismissive towards outsiders," he said as they left the hut and began walking down the road. Or a road. It wasn't quite the same as the one that could be found in the Waking World, but nor was it completely different. "Each time I attempted to speak with them and share my wisdom, they drove me away."

"Can you read minds?" Lana blurted, then quickly shut up because. Stupid. Dumb. So dumb really.

Or maybe not considering. Spirits sort of could; she couldn't disregard it.

Solas huffed out a laugh. "No. But you were obviously trying to establish a rapport with me and I was equally obviously rebuffing you." A child - a spirit posing as a child - sprinted past them, screaming in fear and diving behind a chicken coop. They stopped and watched another spirit, posing as a mage this time, rain fire down on two advancing Templars, catching the coop on fire. 

The child screamed, and the Templars and mage vanished. The chicken coop stood whole once more. After a moment, the child appeared again, running and screaming.

Solas and Lana stood in silence for a while, watching, before Lana took a small step forward. The air thinned as if they had reached the top of a mountain, and her legs ached with the strain, though the road ahead remained as flat as ever. She stopped after a few steps and turned to walk back the way they came. Solas followed quietly.

"You're not wrong," she said when it seemed that he had said his piece and was waiting for her to answer, "but nor are you completely right, and while we could be more welcoming in general, there are some very good reasons to be cautious."

"Caution and contempt are two different things."

"True; yet, they both derive from fear." Solas' face turned sour and she hurried to explain. "Fear of losing our lives and fear of losing ourselves. They are both valid, but we shouldn't let the latter dictate how we treat people who don't approach us with murder in their hearts. Avoiding Templars or hot-headed soldiers who want to hunt us for sport is one thing. Looking down on our kin in the cities is… shameful arrogance," she admitted.

"I cannot imagine that has been a popular opinion."

Lana made a so-so gesture with her hand. "It really depends on who you talk to. Like any other group of people, the Dalish aren't a monolith. There are differences between clans, and differences between individuals." She looked away from Solas' face and found herself almost back at the beginning. "How many people of the clans have you met?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Enough to tire of being dismissed and run off." That was very forthcoming and informative.

Yet, again. Rome wasn't built in a day.

"Well, I can't apologize for actions I haven't taken, but I am sorry that it happened." 

"Thank you," Solas said and opened the door to the hut they'd found welcome in, once more pausing in the doorway. "Perhaps," he said, "we might find ourselves speaking more in the future."

"I'd like that," Lana said with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this one even though the next buffer chapter isn't finished yet because that one is going to be a longer one. That is, longer than the 2k - 2.5k I'm usually aiming at.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Content/Trigger Warnings:**  
>  \- fantasy racism  
> \- sexual harassment  
> \- chauvinism  
> \- ableism  
> \- ^these are all because of Trevelyan, who's a noble nob, but may actual have one or two decent bones out of his 206, WE'LL SEE  
> \- bullying  
> \- upcoming in later chapters: mention of child abuse and csa (there'll be an extra note at the top of the chapter when we get there)
> 
> I really hope that the Holy Shit Two Cakes person was right and there's actual interest for at least yet another story like this because my brain was very insistent that this is the one it wants to focus on to finally break through the writer's block. The fic isn't finished; it's getting released as I write with a couple of chapters buffer, so I can still fix problems before they become major issues. There is no detailed plan for how it will go; I have some vague-ish thoughts regarding certain plot points, but it's all very… undefined. Sorry! Anyway, I'm aiming for a new chapter at least every ten days, which is a calculation based on my writing speed and the average chapter size I'm shooting for.
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving kudos. Thank you!


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